


Nel cor più non mi sento

by chuusei_teki_na_koe



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Angst, Classical Music, Daddy Issues, Goro is a Raging Closet Case, M/M, PT as conservatory students, Shido has raised Goro as his son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuusei_teki_na_koe/pseuds/chuusei_teki_na_koe
Summary: Young men and women of talent from all over Japan gather for the YDB National Performing Arts Competition, and Goro Shido, violinist, is one of them. Unlike some, he's not here just for theexperience, to perform and have a good time. He's here to win—no matter what it takes.The only real competition here in the violin category is someone Goro has never seen perform before—Akira Kurusu. Who the hell is this guy? How the hell is he so good when he started playing so late? Does he ever go anywhere without his stupid posse of friends? And why is he so damn good-looking?Goro is going toruinhim.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 48
Kudos: 99





	Nel cor più non mi sento

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written in my life, a total distraction from my WIP, I know y'all don't care about classical music, there are 1000 better ideas for me to write, but Goro as a hyper-competitive conservatory bitch just would not leave my mind. This AU has been burning a hole in my brain for too long, and it must be free.
> 
> Note: Tchaikovsky was gay as kites and his violin concerto is basically all about unrequited love. He wrote it for a violinist who wouldn't play it. It's also an incredibly popular piece of repertoire (and quite technically challenging) that every serious violinist plays eventually. I suggest [listening to it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEbyyqyKtM0), it's great!
> 
> The piece Akira plays in the competition is [this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=im4T43MKt6U%22) A super underrated 20th century composer who's not well known basically because sexism, I'm just promoting my Bacewicz agenda here.
> 
> YDB=Yal Da Baoth, tee hee.

_Amore è un certo che,  
Che disperar mi fa! _

_Love is a certain something  
Which makes me despair!_

Goro had been to enough competitions that he basically knew all the faces. It was the same people every year, and every year, a few more people would drop out. Even at the conservatory level, where you'd think everyone had committed to being a musician, there were still plenty who burned out and gave up, unable to maintain the lifestyle of classes, orchestra rehearsal, and then three plus hours a day of practice on top of that.

But well, that just meant they couldn't hack it. Less competition for him.

The YDB National Performing Arts Competition, held in Tokyo, held few surprises. When Goro stepped into the lobby of the theater where the competition was being held, he looked around and recognized virtually every violin case there—seeing one particular white oblong case with a simple _king_ shogi piece embroidered on one side, Goro scowled.

Its owner noticed him, turned, and gave him a polite wave. Goro waved back with the fakest smile of his life, then approached her.

“Good to see you again, Hifumi,” he said. “It's been a long time.”

“Yes,” she replied with a cool nod. “I decided to step out of competitions for a while, after what happened.”

No surprise there. It had been a big scandal, when it had been exposed that her mother had been bribing judges.

“It's admirable that you're back again, though,” Goro said, and for once, he was actually being sincere. “It takes guts to come back after something like that.” For all that had happened between them, he would never fault her for any of the bullshit her mother had pulled. It wasn't like he couldn't relate. There had been a time when he had actually liked her somewhat, after all.

“Thank you,” she said, soft and polite as ever. It annoyed him that she didn't seem resentful. He'd prefer it if she were more openly hostile. “It's good to see you again too, Goro.”

Lying bitch. If she'd wanted to see him again, she could have texted him at any time. She really did hate him now, didn't she?

“I hope things are going better for you now,” she added, the expression in her eyes so sickeningly earnest.

“Oh, you know me, I always manage,” Goro said with a smile.

Her smile wilted a little, and she looked down. “I see.”

Goro didn't let his smile falter one instant. “Well, good luck with your performance,” he said. “I look forward to hearing how you've improved in the last year.”  _Or can you still not play in tune?_ he added silently.

“Good luck to you too, Goro,” she said with a smile. “But you don't need it, do you?”

He allowed himself to crack just a bit of a smirk. “Aha-ha. I wouldn't say that.”

He wouldn't  _say_ it, but it was the truth. He was going to win this competition.

Their tense and highly uncomfortable conversation was interrupted when a group of five of about their age burst through the front doors of the theater, chattering loudly amongst themselves. Goro spotted a guy with bleach-blond hair with a viola case, a young mixed-looking woman wheeling a cello case, one tall young man with a long, unwieldy case with rolling wheels on one end that Goro didn't recognize at a glance, and one timid girl lagged following behind them had no case but a bag full of sheet music—probably a pianist—and the young man in the middle had a violin case slung over his shoulder with a strap.

It was that young man who caught Goro's attention. Goro wasn't usually the type to ogle. In fact, he was generally disinterested in people, aside from what they could do for him—he would much prefer to spend his time in the practice room.

But well, this particular guy was attention-grabbing. At a venue where everyone was wearing slacks and dress shirts at the  _minimum,_ he was strolling in with fashionably-ripped jeans, a black jacket, and a punk-looking T-shirt. His hair was in the sort of mess that looked artless but usually actually took an hour in front of the mirror, and the way he walked at the head of his group of friends, saying nothing but  _commanding_ attention with his presence, forced Goro's head to fully turn around to watch him walk in.

Goro had never seen this guy at a competition before. Who the hell was he?

And then, embarrassingly enough, the guy noticed Goro looking, and looked back, flashing him a grin as he brought a hand to his fashionable glasses, adjusting them on his nose.

Goro immediately turned away and pretended like he hadn't just been staring, only to meet with Hifumi's knowing look.

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head, and Goro folded his arms and turned to look at the wall instead.

“Hey.”

Goro suppressed the urge to jump when he heard a voice at his back, and turned around to see that this mystery man had, in fact, approached him. “Yes?” he replied, hoping to hell that he wasn't blushing.

“I recognize you,” the guy said, his thumb sliding back and forth under his case strap absently as he spoke. He was wearing these bright red gloves, and it really drew attention to his hands. Well, it was early spring. It was normal enough to wear gloves. But Goro's eyes kept sliding down to the fingers of the guy's left hand, tapping out some unknown fingering on his case strap. “Goro Shido. You won the Tokyo Youth Competition a few years back, right? Playing Wieniawski.”

“Oh, yes, that was me,” Goro said with no small measure of pride. “And you are...? I don't believe I've seen you at a competition before.”

“Akira Kurusu.” He bobbed his head in a casual bow. “Yeah, my teacher never pushed it, so I never did competitions before, but since I'm starting at a con next month, I figured I'd give it a shot.” He looked over at Hifumi, who had been silently watching them, trying to give Goro eye signals which Goro was pointedly ignoring. “And you are?”

“Hifumi Togo,” she said with a smile. “It's good to meet you, Akira. Oh, if you don't mind first names.”

“Not at all, Hifumi,” Kurusu said with a charming grin, the sort that would make just about any girl's panties drop. “Have I seen your face somewhere? You look familiar, somehow.”

“I have been in some magazines.”

“Oh, was it that issue of _Classical Japan?_ You look a bit different in real life—better, actually.”

“Aha, not at all,” she said with a blush, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

Goro really wasn't into watching these two stand around and flirt, so he figured he'd go.  “I'm one of the first performers, so I should really go warm up,” he said.

But Hifumi stopped him. “Wait, Goro. Can you tell me your number? I lost it since I got a new phone.” And she pulled out her phone—the exact same one she'd always had. She gave him this pointed look before adding to Kurusu, “Oh, and if it's not too sudden, would you mind sharing yours with me? I've been trying to organize some get-togethers for chamber music, if you're interested.”

Goro narrowed his eyes at her. So that was her game? Seriously?

“Maybe you want to hear me play before asking that,” Kurusu said with a grin, but he brought out his phone, and because Goro was there, politeness dictated that all three of them share numbers, and Goro got Kurusu's number as well.

One of Kurusu's friends said something, and he turned back to reply before saying to Goro and Hifumi, “Hope to see you guys later,” before dashing off.

“That was unnecessary,” Goro said coldly to her after Kurusu was gone. He'd forgotten about her propensity for chess-like social maneuvers. It was part of what had made them friends in the first place.

“You wanted his number, though?”

“I don't—” Goro cut himself off, drawing his lips in a tight line. “You're not going to say _anything_ about me to him, or anyone else, all right?” he said sharply, dropping the polite act. Hifumi had already seen him at his worst, anyway.

Hifumi looked down. That was the thing about her, she never flinched, and she never lost her temper. She just responded to everything with this gentle calm, and it was all the more infuriating. “I'm not going to say anything. But why not be honest with yourself? Are you still so scared of your f—”

“I have to go warm up now,” Goro cut her off coldly, and then he walked off.

x x x

Goro and Hifumi had dated for two years, starting when he was sixteen, and she was fifteen. They had the same teacher, but they'd only really started talking once they'd both joined the same youth orchestra—Goro had been fourteen at that time, and Hifumi thirteen. They had never associated outside of orchestra—both of them were too busy with school and practice—but a couple years of being deskies had built a friendship between them, and when Hifumi had confessed her feelings to him, Goro had agreed to date.

He had already known at that point that he preferred boys, but there had been some corner of his mind telling him that dating Hifumi would work. He honestly liked her, and that was enough, right? He had enjoyed dating her and spending time with her. He'd put off sex for a long time, but when they actually got around to doing it, it was fine. Boring, but it made her happy.

But then Goro had been stupid. Around high school graduation, in a particularly dumb fit of teenage rebellion, he'd heard about a club—a gay club—where you could sneak in without an ID, and he'd shamefully slunk over there with a ball cap and sunglasses on, then immediately gotten a bathroom hookup with some rando who was at least ten years older than him  _(and there were absolutely no daddy issues involved there, nope)._ He'd met that guy at love hotels a few times after that, and then, of all things, Hifumi had gotten suspicious when she'd discovered the condom count in the stash at his house was a few short. Who the hell would  _count_ that sort of thing? But she'd always been keen on the details like that.

And then she'd dragged it all out of him and had cried very prettily, as if  _she_ was the victim in this situation, when she was the one dumping  _him._ He had sworn he would never see that guy again, he'd never see another guy again, he'd thrown away all his pride and begged her not to leave him, but she'd dumped him anyway, and she hadn't spoken to him once since then.

After Hifumi had dumped him, Goro had contemplated killing himself, just to spite her, like,  _look what you did to me._ But he'd had a competition to practice for, and he'd never gotten around to it.

Without Hifumi in his life, Goro was left with little else except practice. Goro had graduated from their youth orchestra after he'd started at Mementos Conservatory, so he'd had very few chances to even see her face.

She didn't want him. Fine. It was the least he could do to grind her into the dust in this competition, to show her what she was missing. She wasn't going to get anyone better than him.

x x x

Unpacking his violin in the crowded room that had been set aside for warm ups, Goro tuned and warmed up with some scales and arpeggios, blocking out the cacophony of everyone else in there doing the same thing, then did a slow-careful runthrough of all the difficult passages of his piece before checking the time on his phone. It was about time. Putting his violin away and shooting a text to his accompanist, he headed out to the hall where he would be performing.

This particular theater wasn't a huge performance hall, but rather a collection of smaller rooms, and in a bid to save money, this year, they had various instrument categories playing at once in different rooms, and the whole competition was to be concluded over the course of one long weekend.

The hall where he was to be performing in the preliminary round was a smaller one, and there were already a smattering of violinists sitting there with their instruments in their laps, waiting to play. Goro took a seat, listened to a couple milquetoast renditions of Lalo and Mozart Four, then went up to perform.

He never got too nervous in the early rounds—he'd practiced his repertoire into the ground, and after hearing the level of those who played before him, he wasn't worried.

When it was his turn, he banged out his concerto—Prokofiev—with ease, bowed, thanked the accompanist, and walked off stage with the smug knowledge that he had this in the bag.

Walking back down into the audience, though, he caught sight of a familiar face—it was that guy he'd met in the lobby, Kurusu. As Goro walked by him, heading back to his case, Kurusu said, “Nice performance.”

 _I know,_ Goro thought, but he just replied with a smile. “I'm looking forward to hearing you play,” he said, quite insincerely. Sure, this guy was hot, but Goro had zero expectations about his ability.

The way this was set up, everyone played, and then the judges made their comments to performers after, so Goro put his violin away and sat himself down to listen to the other performers. He was fully prepared to zone out for the next hour or two, but he was immediately jolted out of it when he heard the first jumping notes of an unfamiliar piece.

Looking up, he saw the one playing was that very Akira Kurusu.

Once the piece got going, Goro realized it wasn't completely unfamiliar—he'd heard it before, but he couldn't place the composer. It sounded 20th-century, and it wasn't one of the standard competition pieces, your Tchaikovsky and Beethoven and Brahms concertos that Goro had heard about a million times by now.

But Goro didn't even think to look down at the program, because he was completely entranced by this guy's playing. It was—it was as if he were _playing_ with the music, a game of push-and-pull with the phrases, eyes closed and a wide grin on his face as he alternated from hitting the strings hard enough to fray his bow hair and stroking them so gently you'd think the sound would disappear, and yet he projected as if he was in a great concert hall instead of this small room with a little stage.

When it was over and he bowed and thanked his accompanist, his little group of friends in the front all clapped wildly for him, and that bleach-blond hair boy even whistled obnoxiously, and the rest of the audience—the typical smattering of performers and family members—joined in.

Goro didn't clap.

When it finally came time for the judges' comments and everyone went up to the front, Goro was hardly paying attention. His head was filled with the performance he'd just heard on loop. He avoided looking at that guy at all.

_Shit. He's good._

_He's_ really _good._

x x x

Goro was going to be playing a second time later that day—his entry that morning had been in the concerto category, and he was playing unaccompanied Bach in the afternoon, so in the meantime, he was at loose ends.

Practicing on the day of was a quick road to nerves—you weren't going to get _more_ prepared on the day of a performance—so he decided to go listen to some other entries.

He'd spied a few odd-looking cases in the halls, and back in the warm-up room, there had been a koto and biwa among all the violins, flutes, and other western instruments. He'd heard they'd merged this competition with another event for traditional arts—that had to be them.

Goro checked his phone, and seeing he still had quite a bit of time, decided to go take a look at some of the traditional performances, since it wasn't something he typically heard a lot of. There was only so many times you could listen to the same Paganini caprices hacked out by incompetents before you lost your mind.

Checking the program and case in hand, he headed out to one of the smaller halls where it said there would be performances on the koto and yamatogoto, waited for the applause so he could go in, and took a seat at the back.

He immediately noticed a collection of familiar-looking heads at the front—that bleach-blond one stood out. Goro scowled, but ignored them, waiting for the next performer.

It was, of all things, the tall young man with odd long case Goro had seen come in earlier, and it seemed he was playing on the yamatogoto. He was going all out with a full kimono, too—Goro had to admit he looked the part.

Goro was expecting something very _wa_ and peaceful, but once the guy knelt down on the stage in front of his instrument—taking a long pause to collect himself before beginning—what came out was...avant-garde, to say the least. Goro had played his share of atonal nonsense, but this was on another level. He wasn't sure whether to be impressed or not. It didn't sound _bad._ Probably. It was hard to say.

His friends gave him an obnoxiously wild applause, though. The other performers after him were a little more normal, some playing traditional pieces, others doing more modern takes on the traditional stuff, and someone, of course, played Paganini 24. Goro even stayed to hear the judges' comments, just out of curiosity, and discovered that Mr. Yamatogoto had apparently gone entirely off-score into twenty minutes of impromptu jazz odyssey.

 _Why not enter the jazz category if you're going to improvise...?_ Goro thought with a sigh. Weirdo.

On his way out of the hall, though, it seemed that Mr. Yamatogoto as well as Kurusu and the rest of his friends caught sight of him.

“Hey, funny meeting you here again,” came a voice from behind, and Goro turned around to see Kurusu, looking ridiculous _(-ly hot)_ as before in his casual clothes.

“I'm playing Bach as well,” Goro explained coolly as his eyes scanned over Kurusu's friends.

“Ahh yeah, I considered doing Bach too, but then I wouldn't be able to hear Futaba play,” Kurusu said, jabbing his thumb over at the timid-looking girl with the music bag.

“I'd rather you didn't come hear me play...” Goro caught the girl—Futaba—mutter under her breath.

“Besides,” Kurusu continued, “I had my hands full working on the Bacewicz concerto.”

“Ohh, Bacewicz, I wondered,” Goro said with a nod. “You don't hear her work nearly as often. It's nice to hear something besides Tchaikovsky yet again.”

“Well, the Tchaik is a classic, though,” Kurusu said, a slow grin spreading on his face. “What, you don't like Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto? I'd have thought you would.”

The specific way he said that, the particular look on his face, made Goro flush so hard, he could feel it. Kurusu was absolutely insinuating _that._ “ _No,_ I do _not_ like _Tchaikovsky,_ ” he snapped, and turned around. “I'll see you at the finals, Kurusu.”

It wasn't until he was down the hall when he realized the massive compliment he'd just given the guy, assuming he would be in the finals.

x x x

Unsurprisingly, Kurusu was in the finals.

So was Goro, of course. The final round was happening in the large central theater, and Goro ran into Kurusu and his gaggle of friends once more in the lobby—seriously, did he go anywhere without his posse?

“Omigod,” Goro heard someone whisper as Kurusu walked into the theater, “Did you hear him in the second round? I'd sell my soul to the devil to be able to play like that.”

Goro felt his eye twitch.

“Fancy meeting you again,” Kurusu said with a grin as he came up to Goro. At least he was wearing dress clothes, that day.

“Yes, fancy that,” Goro said, and with great effort, he was able to keep that from coming out sarcastic.

“I'm glad I could get the chance to hear you play again,” Kurusu said, and he was doing that thing again where he tapped out fingerings on his case strap. It was...distracting.

“Likewise,” Goro said with a smile, and disgustingly enough, he actually meant it. “It's a shame I didn't get to hear your friends play as well. ...Oh, aside from Mr. Yamatogoto.”

“Ah, that's Yusuke,” Akira said, pointing at the tall guy behind him. He was in regular clothes instead of a kimono that day. “Oh, and I should introduce everyone. Yusuke Kitagawa. Futaba Sakura—” he gestured to the shy-looking girl—“she plays piano. Ryuji Sakamoto, viola. Ann Takamaki, cello,” he pointed to his other friends.

“Oh, we're just here to listen today,” Takamaki said, waving her hands, and indeed, she was not burdened that day by an instrument case. “Akira's the only one who made it to the finals, after all.”

 _Of course that bleach-blond ape is a violist,_ Goro thought to himself.

Discussion of the finals seemed to make Sakura droop miserably, which Takamaki didn't fail to notice. “Aw, cheer up, Futaba! There will be other chances!”

“Yeah, other chances for me to blow it...” her head sunk lower. “Maybe I'm just not cut out for this...”

Goro was glancing at the clock and thinking about warming up when both front doors of the theater opened up and a figure walked in, his face obscured by the light of the late afternoon sun shining in behind him. Goro jumped at the sound of someone hitting both the doors at once to make himself a dramatic entrance—and he knew immediately just who it was.

 _Why the hell is he here?_ Goro thought with rising panic, frozen as the man scanned the lobby, then saw him and approached. _He never comes to my performances._ Or hardly ever. Goro could count those occasions on one hand.

“Goro,” his father approached with a raised hand in greeting. “Glad I could catch you before the performance. I wanted to wish you luck.”

 _Bull-fucking-shit,_ Goro thought, internally seething _._

“Thanks,” Goro said with a bright smile.

“Well, not like you need it,” Masayoshi added with a laugh. “I'm expecting you to win.” He said it lightly, but Goro knew quite well that he meant it seriously. Then he turned to Kurusu and his friends. “Oh, are you Goro's friends? Or the competition?” he said part that with a charming smile.

“The competition,” Kurusu said, raising up a hand to adjust his glasses.

“Oh, not for long,” Masayoshi replied with a chuckle. He had this way of saying things that would have sounded nasty coming from anyone else and making it sound like a pleasant joke. But he meant it. He meant all of it. “I'll see you on stage,” he nodded at Kurusu, and then slapped a hand on Goro's shoulder, squeezing it tight—tight enough to hurt, _a warning—_ and then left, heading into the audience seats.

“Your dad?” Kurusu said, and Goro just nodded.

“It's nice that he's so supportive, coming to see you play,” Takamaki said, and Goro wanted to slap her in the face, but he just smiled.

x x x

Backstage before his performance, Goro was losing his shit.

Goro didn't even what to _think_ about what would happen if he lost this competition.

If his father was showing up, that meant this was important to him, and if it was important to him, it was vital for Goro.

Goro was under absolutely no illusions that his father was showing up out of some kind of show of support, or out of a love of music, or any bullshit like that. No, it was twenty percent the sadistic pleasure he got out of seeing Goro squirm, and eighty percent the desire to bask in the second-hand glory of having a son winning a prestigious competition.

His mother had loved music. She hadn't really known much about it, but she'd shown so much enthusiasm for everything Goro played, even back when he had to have sounded like he was killing cats. When he was four, he'd seen some kids' anime involving a violin and said he wanted to play, so she'd gotten him one, gotten him lessons and taken him every week, waking up in the middle of the day when she was usually sleeping to walk him to his lessons.

“ _I love hearing you play, Goro!”_ she'd said just about every day. _“Could you practice just a little more, so I can hear some more?”_ And he'd never been able to say no. He'd practiced and practiced, for her.

It wasn't until years later that he'd learned how much violin lessons cost, that she'd been paying one of the best teachers in the city, and the kind of work she'd kept doing so she could pay for it.

When he'd won a youth competition at the age of nine, apparently, his mother had sent a letter to his father about it, saying just how talented their son was, and won't you please come see him play?

It was only after Goro had some _credentials_ to his name that Masayoshi Shido had seen fit to acknowledge him, to put him on the family register. He'd taken Goro in, but of course, he'd left behind Goro's mother.

Goro hadn't heard a peep from his mother after that. He'd believed for years that his mother simply didn't want him anymore—it wasn't until he was fifteen that he found out that she'd killed herself shortly after he'd been taken in by his father. His father hadn't even seen fit to inform him about it.

So no. His father was not here out of kindness or support. And there were not enough beta blockers in the world to calm his nerves right now.

Kurusu played right before him. From backstage, Goro heard everything—and if anything, he was playing even better than the last time Goro had heard him, maybe he was the type who really blossomed under pressure—he seemed like he really got a thrill out of being on stage, _fuck_ people like that, honestly—and then it was Goro's turn way too soon.

He tried every single calming technique in the book. He'd brought beta blockers and bananas, he tried meditation and deep breathing, but the moment he stepped out in front of the piano, down under the hot lights, all he could think about was his father in the audience, expecting perfection and victory.

 _I can't. I_ can't.

Even before his bow was on the string, Goro knew he was going to lose.

After his performance was done, he caught sight of Kurusu backstage, case in hand.

“Nice performance,” Kurusu said with a smile, and Goro couldn't take that as anything but a dig at him. His playing had been shit, and anyone with ears would have heard it.

Goro just brushed past him without a word, jaw clenched so hard, his neck hurt.


End file.
